


Firsts

by GilbertsMangoes



Category: Marvel, Marvel (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Breaking walls, F/M, First Kiss, First Love, Needless to say, Only Friends, Russia, flirty banter, he does not make the first move, james is hopelessly in love but can't admit it, love unfolds out of a burgeoning friendship, natalia is bold bold, short fic, their journey, they're each other's first everything, winterwidow - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-21
Updated: 2020-07-21
Packaged: 2021-03-05 06:02:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25429609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GilbertsMangoes/pseuds/GilbertsMangoes
Summary: What REALLY happened back at the Red Room and how Natalia Romanova, the sweetheart of the Red Room, found comfort and love in the hardhearted Winter Soldier.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Natasha Romanov
Kudos: 8





	Firsts

Red Room, Stalingrad, Russia, 1955

"And... GO!" Madame Gorky called. Natalia stared into the eyes of her opponent. Yelena Belova. Her best friend, but her enemy here and now. They were fighting for the highest honor a cadet could get: training with the elusive Winter Soldier. 

He was HYDRA's top agent, sent to train the best woman in class. If she lost, she would still get trained by a high-ranking KGB worker, but everyone knew that only the best trained would be nominated for the ultimate prize: the honor of the title of Black Widow. More so, she knew that the great Ivan Somodorov, the man she considered her father, had taken special care of her, taken her in as a daughter. She would not bring shame upon his good name.

Using these thoughts as motivation, Natalia brought down Yelena, and it was over as quickly as it started.

After she had won, Yelena got up, her eye bruised and leg shattered.

"I hope you're happy, Natalia," she spat. Natalia didn't understand. She thought Yelena knew that these fights meant no hard feelings. They were simply tussles. She would get a good trainer too. 

She knew Natalia's attitude. She had no room for the empathy and attachment that came with friendship. They would simply hinder her. Friendships to Natalia were just a means to escape from the real world for a bit, good for a laugh. They were not things to build your life decisions upon. Still though, she felt a pull in her heart for her former best friend. Oh well, someone new would come along eventually.

Yelena was her first companion. Born out of this program also, she was the daughter of the famed Eugenia Belova, second in command to Ivan in the 1910s and 20s. They had trained together, played together, grown up together. But no matter, Natalia could live without her.

"I am, Yelena. I am." Yelena flipped her short blonde hair and limped out of the room and towards the hospital room. Meanwhile, Natalia stood proudly, hair messy and scars decorating her face.

"Very good, Natalshka," Ivan praised, and she beamed. It was rare to get a compliment from him.

"Thank you, Father." she accepted.

"Go to my personal doctor. He shall treat your wounds and you shall meet your trainer tomorrow," he gestured, pointing towards the door.

"Yes, Father."

She walked with purpose towards Dr. Ledovsky's office. As soon as he was done, she trudged to her room and slept.

___________________

The next morning, Natalia got up at 5:00. In her clothes closet,(which only had one outfit that father wanted her to wear per day ) there was a black catsuit with the Black Widow symbol on the belt. She put it on quickly, the tight fabric clinging to her body. She loved catsuits. They were stealthy, comfortable, and useful. 

She tied her red hair back in a loose but comfortable bun. She clipped on her utility belt; It had been upgraded to contain anything she might need from knives to stars to bullets, but she would not be given a gun until training time to prevent any rebellion. 

By 5:30, she was out the door and into the training center.

"You're late," Ivan growled when she got there at 5:31.

"I apologize, Father." She had the smoothest alto voice, gravelly and feminine.

"I don't need your apologies. Go meet your trainer! I have a mission. I'll be back in 4 hours for lunch." She nodded obediently. 

She turned to the man at the corner of the room. He had long chin length mud brown hair. His eyes were piercing gray, like fluid and melting silver, with clear skin. He had a mask on, so you couldn't see the rest of his face. One of his arms was gleaming silver. He was slightly intimidating, but Natalia knew she could be more intimidating.

"Soldat," she greeted. He nodded once.

"What, you aren't going to talk?" she only half-teased. She saw his eyes narrow. 

"No need to get mad. Take off that mask," she suggested, bobbing her head once towards him.

"And why should I do that?" he finally spoke. He had a voice that was not what she expected. It was a velvety tenor, like a singing voice, not the gravelly bass that most men around here had.

"Ah, so he speaks!" 

"Answer my question."

She sighed, starting to talk. Little did he know, this ramble she was on was all part of her plan. It was completely stupid and made no sense, but it did the trick.

"Such a bore. Anyways, take off the mask because how am I supposed to train if I don't know who my 'opponent' is? How can we tell the USA from Russia if we're all wearing masks? Undercover is one thing, stupidity is another. If you were on mission and everyone was wearing masks, KGB would fire on their men, SSR on theirs, and everything would be an absolute mess!" She kept talking, and he didn't notice that she had inched away from her place in front of him.

He didn't notice until the cloth of his mask was off his face. He swiveled around, and there she was, a smirk on her face and holding the black fabric. She tossed it aside, kicking it to the corner of the room with a graceful sweep of her feet.

Natalia was absolutely dumbstruck at this man's face. He was not much older than her, maybe by a year or two! He had a defined jaw line, thin stubble across his face, and was just... beautiful. She expected him to be the age of her teachers, with battle scars. She didn't show her shock.

"Clever." He almost sounded surprised, his mouth quirking upwards on the right.

"I'm a ballet dancer, Soldat. I am trained to be agile."

"You're more agile than most I've seen," he noticed, narrowing his eyes slightly. 

"That's why I'm here," she smirked.

"Don't act smart, little Red. You have much learning to do." With one swift movement, he threw her feet out from under her and she fell to the ground. She just sat on the ground, gaping, No one had ever beat her in a fight. Therefore, he had earned her respect.

"Now, I would like to know you before we train. What is your name, agent?"

"I'll tell you mine if you tell me yours," she said, smirking confidently.

"Don't be difficult, little Red," he chided, rolling his eyes.

"Little Red?" One of her eyebrows raised in curiosity.

"Like the fairy tale. Haven't you ever heard it?" he asked, amused.

"Ivan doesn't let us read stories. We only read texts approved by the Red Room and KGB. He says reading too many fairy tales might corrupt our minds with happy ideas and unrealistic thoughts," she explained dismally.

"Oh," he said, then continued. "Fine. My name is James Buchanan Barnes. People call me Soldat or Barnes. My friends call me Bucky. And yours?"

She ignored him. "Bucky? What an atrocity! I shall refuse to call you anything but James."

"You'd be the first," he said, slightly surprised that she assumed they were friendly.

"What a shame. James is such a simple and beautiful name."

"Fine, but what is your name, little Red?"

"Natalia. Natalia Alianovna Romanova," she announced proudly.

"Natalia," he repeated, liking the way her name rolled off his tongue easily. "You're sixteen, correct?"

"Seventeen," she corrected. "Best in my class." She was a year younger than him, but shockingly more advanced than anyone else he had trained. She was also less brainwashed, less drone-like than most trainees. She had spunk and her own mind, a sort of pride that was purely self interested, not the loyal thankfulness most Red Room toppers possessed. 

"That is why you're here with me," he pointed out obviously as she blushed pink. She seemed to remember her place and straightened, willing the blood to stop rushing to her cheeks as best she could. 

"Of course. If you don't mind, do you mind telling me your age?" she asked bravely.

"You shouldn't know this information, Natalia."

"Shouldn't I?" she simply asked, frowning and shrugging. "Tell me."

It slipped out of his mouth before he got a chance to stop it. "I don't know exactly."

She raised an eyebrow. "How do you not know your own age, James?"

"I was never told my actual birth date, but I was told three years ago that I was seventeen. I have only aged one year since," he admitted, frowning a little bit. 

"That sounds like a terrible life. To be confined to one age, forever stagnant," she said with sad eyes.

"Ironic," he remarked dryly. She turned her eyes to him, furrowing her brow.

"And how so?" she asked defensively, crossing her arms over her chest. 

"You will soon be part of the very same life, little Red. Haven't you been educated about what the Black Widow program is like?" Surprise crossed her face, then a skeptical look. 

"No, that is your job," she pointed out, making him feel less than smart for the first time in years. 

"Right," he said stupidly, making her smirk. For a supposedly brutal soldier, he had a soft heart hidden by an adorably awkward "tough guy" facade. She had heard tales of him being the hardest and most harsh trainer, but so far, he seemed... human. 

"Alright then, Winter Soldier. Educate me?" she requested sweetly, sarcasm dripping from her tone.

"Watch the tone. I'm still your trainer."

"Mhm," she nodded, mock investment on her face. 

He ignored her blatant disrespect(it was a refreshing change from all the mindless killing orders) and continued, "After two months of training, I will be expected to assess your progress. If you are progressing as you should, you will be injected with the same thing I have been injected with. This will further your journey to being a Black Widow. It will slow your growth to 33% of a year per year and enhance your strongest parts. You will be confined to a life of continuous errands for the Red Room and USSR," He realized how dissatisfied he sounded and he did not want to be murdered for the daughter of Ivan Somodorov himself telling her father of his comments. "It is a great honor, of course. The greatest any cadet may get."

"I am well aware of the prestige, James," she said, though her tone sounded subdued, less giddy and more sage. "Shall we train?" 

He frowned and nodded. It was the first time he had held a conversation with a trainee like this. A day of many firsts, he noted. With a press of a button, he summoned a row of dummies out to the sparring area.

"You're already skilled in hand to hand combat, Natalia. Show me your aim."

She smiled, in her element completely. "Stars or gun?"

"You choose, little Red," he chuckled, throwing her one of two hand guns from his belt. She caught it with perfect aim. She raised it to the target, taking a deep breath as the fact that she was training to be the highest honor amongst all women in Russia sunk in. 

Taking three shots, she hit the head, navel, and chest of the dummy not quite right on center, but enough to kill a real human. She cast away the gun and pulled out the gleaming knives and deep red stars, each of them whizzing by to the target and hitting right on mark, except for a star that bounced off the stomach.

She grunted in frustration as she tried again, not quite getting it and it hitting below aim. 

"Here, let me show you," he offered, grabbing his own silver throwing stars. "You're not using the right technique. Use the whole arm until the very end and flick the wrist slightly. It provides more force to lodge it in firmly. You have to relax your body too, you're really tense and rigid."

He placed the throwing star in her hand. He stood behind her, pulling her body back to chest with him. Matching the length of her arms with his, he aligned their left arms and straightened hers to match his metal arm. He wrapped his human arm around her right arm and demonstrated the motion of throwing the star.

He was softer than she expected. He had callouses and scars and his arm was pure titanium, but his touch was feather light and delicate. His skin had a certain warmth to it that she had never gotten out of anyone in the place. 

He had no words to describe her. Despite her edgy and sarcastic exterior, her body was not at all jagged. It was all soft curves and small dips, like planes of rolling hills. She was muscular and curvaceous. 

It wasn't meant to be awkward, James did this with cadets all the time with zero reaction, but both of them stepped back blushing after the throwing star hit right on mark.

He cleared his throat. "Why...Why don't you try by yourself?" She copied the earlier motions and they each hit on mark. 

"Excellent," he praised genuinely. She was a quick study. She beamed, thankful for the gratification. "Would you like to work on some sparring?"

She nodded, quickly retying her long fire colored hair into a secure ponytail. "Let's do this."

____________________

It had been three weeks since Natalia Romanova had started training with James Barnes. It had started from acknowledgement to a tentative friendship and had developed into a protective camaraderie. They had both been reluctant(all their life was training to be unemotional), but it had happened naturally. The two were inseparable(but Ivan didn't know that) friends even outside of training periods.

"Getting old, James?" she teased wickedly, a spark of playfulness gleaming in her eyes as she ducked under to evade his incoming punch and kicked his legs out from underneath him. He struck the air and cursed.

"You wish, 'Talia." He grabbed her right leg and used it to get up, bringing her down to the mat. She rose quickly, striking him in the stomach and then the face respectively, grabbing his head and locking it in her arms. It was just gentle enough not to hurt him.

"Tap out, James. Admit it, I win," she said cockily, letting down her guard for a moment as she let him go.

"Never turn your back on your enemy, little Red." He flipped her to the floor and she landed on the mat with a soft thud. 

"No fair, I thought you yielded," she pouted from the ground. "If you hadn't done that dirty move, I would've won!"

"I never said I surrendered, 'Talia," he retorted, extending his flesh arm to help her up. She took it and felt the familiar electricity of his skin. 

"It's time for lunch and then we work on target practice," he said authoritatively.

"Whatever you say, but I have to be back for ballet by five," she reminded, letting her hair finally fall free out of the braid it was restrained in. It fell in lush waves of bright red over her shoulder, cascading just past her upper back. He stared as she shook her head and ran a hand through her hair, sighing as the tight braid came undone. He found himself wishing he could touch that soft red hair, run his hands through it, see if it really smelled like the wildflower whiffs he got when they sparred or she ran by. 

She caught him and she let a curious little laugh escape her mouth. "What?"

"Nothing, nothing." He shook his head and thoughts of the girl out of his mind. Cold and unfeeling had already been let down, he couldn't let primal attraction get in the way of his job.

He thought it was attraction, but sometimes he found himself wishing he could do more than the physical aspects of love with her. He wished he could be a normal young man with a normal lover who could hold his hands. He wished he could take her out, all alone, and really get to know her beyond the flirty banter. He wished he could go to one of her ballet recitals without looking suspicious and be in the very front row, the first to clap enthusiastically and bring her flowers every time she so much as breathed.

"Didn't look like nothing. Do I have something on my face?" she asked, her eyebrow raised smartly. "Or is there another reason you're staring at me?"

"You just have a lot more... um, personality than a lot of people I've met," he said awkwardly, scratching the back of his neck.

"Personality?" she laughed, though not antagonizingly. "I'm not sure whether that was a compliment, but I'll take it."

"It was meant in the best way possible," he said while tying his mask up again. Natalia was the only trainee allowed to see his face for confidentiality purposes, but she sometimes wished it wasn't so. After all, it was less hours a day she got to enjoy the view of his lightly stubbled and defined and chiseled face.

"It better have been. I can beat you in a fight now, remember?" she grinned, nudging him gently. 

He scoffed. "In your dreams, little Red." He ruffled her thick hair and she pouted angrily.

"Not the hair, James! It takes hours to get the knots out!" 

"Tough luck, rookie," he shrugged casually, walking leisurely in the deserted halls to the mess. Wanting revenge, she ran up to him and pulled his brown hair gently. 

"Hey!" he exclaimed in surprise. 

"Tough luck," she echoed, an evil smirk and mischievous look in her green eyes. In a swift movement, he grabbed her legs and threw her muscular body(which wasn't the lightest thing in the world despite her short height and thin stature) over his shoulder easily.

She struggled a little before she remembered the training she had learned just that day. Using his torso as a push off, she kicked off from his chest and flipped from his grip easily, landing chest-to-chest in front of him. She locked eyes with him proudly, their hands landing limp at their sides and brushing awkwardly.

"How's that for a rookie, huh?" she challenged, smirking at him. 

"Not bad," he admitted. "I've trained you well." He raised his human arm slowly and gently cupped her cheek, tracing a slow line in the middle of her cheek bone and jaw. He drew his hand away quickly, stepping away and remembering his boundaries. He was the Winter Soldier. Affection was a hindrance, not something to be embraced.

She seemed to move closer to him until he stepped back abruptly and she blushed, cursing herself. James was her trainer and soon to be partner in missions. He'd be assigned to her for five years before a new batch of Black Widow trainees would come in. He'd grow attached to another girl, befriend another girl just as good as her and she'd be another one in the rotation.

What she didn't know is that James Barnes was known for disassociation and being a killing machine. She'd seen the cold part of him so many times, but it always cracked through for her to expose his real personality. Something about her made him want to hold tight and never let go of her. 

It was quite simple, really. Natalia Romanova taught him to be human.

"We'd better get to lunch or Father will be ballistic," she mumbled softly, spinning on her heel and walking away briskly. He followed her awkwardly and tried to forget it had ever happened.

_____________________________

It was one week later when all had been forgotten. Natalia went back to the wry and sarcastic sweet girl he loved(in a friendly manner, of course) and James went back to the smooth and chivalrous softie on the inside she adored. They were in the mess for supper, a simple affair that contained all the food groups. 

On each plate was a hefty portion of creamy sable black beans on lightly toasted bread slices. On the side was a half cup of milk and a chunk of cheese. A few spoons of corn was added to the side. On every other Friday, they'd get a simple dessert(which was basically a slice of fruit sprinkled with cinnamon), but they relished the treat anyhow.

"Favorite color?" he asked her, playing a lightning round of questions. She had proclaimed that they needed to get to know each other better.

"Black," she shot back. "Yours?"

"Red," he said without thinking. "Food?"

"I've never really tried anything too extreme, but once, when I was just barely six, Ivan took me to see one of his missions. It was at a fairground and I wasn't allowed to touch anything, but I was a curious child. A kind old woman was the keeper for a bakery stall and she gave me a gingerbread cookie for free when she saw me staring. It was the best thing I'd ever tasted," she sighed wistfully. "What about you? Your Мама ever cook anything nostalgic for you?"

"No, I was raised here... I think." Truth be told, he didn't remember much. He just remembered waking up to a metal arm and Russians everywhere. On occasion, he'd have something odd cross his mind. Laughing with a skinny blonde American boy, winning a bear for a ginger haired girl, falling and falling until all sensation ceased... For some reason, he had the taste of something wonderfully sweet and tart on his tongue, but he couldn't quite name it. 

A picture of an apple dripping with rich brown caramel, chocolate, and sprinkles crossed his mind for an instant.

"Oh, shame," she said strangely, as if she knew he was fibbing. "One day, on a mission, we're going to make a detour and eat something to treat ourselves."

He liked how she talked about them like they were always going to be together. He wished it could be that way. 

"Are you done?" she asked impatiently. "I want to show you something I've been working on for dance. I don't have class for another hour so it'll be deserted in the studio."

"I'm done," he acquiesced. She stood up excitedly and all but sprinted out the door. He chuckled and followed after her. 

She stood in the hallway tapping her feet impatiently for him to catch up.

"Could you be any slower?" she demanded, grabbing his hand and pulling him along. Her hand was calloused from training, both of theirs were, but it was something about the way their hands fit together perfectly, something about the warmth and comfort of her touch that made him never want to let go. 

When they were there, she closed the door softly and clicked the lock into place. She reached for the zipper on her black suit.

"Oh, um... Don't you think that's a bit inappropriate?" he asked. 

"Get your mind out of the gutter, James. I have my leotard on under here," she said, rolling her eyes. Unzipping the rest of it, it fell to reveal a black leotard and cream tights that outlined every inch of her form. 

You could make out every muscle, every imperfection on her body, but to James, she was perfect all the same. He didn't care that she had more abs than he did, or that her chest was smaller than most, or that her hips had a small second dip. To him, she was Lady Aphrodite herself. 

Despite his conditioning to hide feelings, he let it slip. "You're beautiful."

She blushed scarlet and mumbled, "Stop it." She bent down to lace her flats.

"Turn on the music, will you? The records are in the back." He obeyed her, putting a classical music vinyl into the player. She took a deep breath and started to move, throwing all her heart and soul into the dance. It was the only thing she did as enthusiastically as her training with James.

He was totally transfixed as he watched her get lost in the passions of her favorite activity. He watched as she did the most complicated spin, transitioning quickly into a leap of sorts.He watched her face reflect every single emotion in the dance. Her body moved in ways he didn't know were possible, gracefully and gorgeously. After a minute or two, she ended elegantly, bowing once and breathing heavily.

"So?" she asked breathlessly.

"Amazing," he said. "Spectacular."

"There was one more thing I wanted to try," she confessed. 

"Go for it," he encouraged with a smile. Taking a confident breath in and out, she stepped back. She ran into a full grand jete, but attempted to do something in the middle of it. With a sound of alarm, she started to fall through the air. Reflexes taking over, James sprinted to catch her. She landed in his arms in bridal position. 

"I don't know dance, but I know enough to tell that was way above a seventeen year old's skill level," he said. He let her down right in front of him, standing 7 inches below his 6 feet. 

"It was. The other girl's are still struggling with pirouettes," she admitted. "Thank you." 

"Any time, little Red." She looked up at him gratefully, jade eyes clashing with dove gray. 

"Has anyone ever told you your eyes are amazingly expressive?" she asked breathily. 

"You're the first, as always," he said, smiling crookedly. "Always the first, Natalia," he said more seriously. 

"What do you mean by that?"

"As far as I know, my first friend, first person I've ever cared about, first person to call me James, first person to break my walls, first person to care about me, first person to make me feel human..." His voice cracked and he saw her eyes soften. 

"I know one more first I could be," she said softly, her cheeks going red. 

"What's that?" 

She didn't say anything. She cupped her small hands around his face and leaned up to press her pink lips to his. It was short, but it was emphatic.

"First kiss," she whispered on his lips, letting go of him with a kiss on the cheek and walking away with a small smile.

James was left in the studio dumbstruck, a lovestruck dreamy smile transfixed smile on his face. His hand fluttered up to his lips, afraid if he brushed it too hard the residue of her sweet kiss might fly away.

She didn't hear it, but to himself, he whispered, "First love."


End file.
